


The Old Road: Introduction

by rapture_boy



Series: The Old Road [1]
Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-15 22:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14799479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapture_boy/pseuds/rapture_boy
Summary: This is the  introduction the "Old Road" series. The ships I'll be writing for will change between individual stories, but I'll mainly be focusing on DIsmas/Reynauld and the Plague Doctor/Grave robber ships. Later on I'll likely add shorter stories about a few other ships and other characters, but the bulk of the work will be on these since they're my favorites. Tags/warnings will change story by story.I'll be using the canon names for all characters, except for the heir.Please be patient with any errors; I edit my own work. Leave a comment if you'd like to see anything later on!





	1. Introduction: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is the introduction the "Old Road" series. The ships I'll be writing for will change between individual stories, but I'll mainly be focusing on DIsmas/Reynauld and the Plague Doctor/Grave robber ships. Later on I'll likely add shorter stories about a few other ships and other characters, but the bulk of the work will be on these since they're my favorites. Tags/warnings will change story by story.
> 
> I'll be using the canon names for all characters, except for the heir. 
> 
> Please be patient with any errors; I edit my own work. Leave a comment if you'd like to see anything later on!

The Old Road: Introduction

There are places less traversed; they are wild; untouched for years. Fields are left to fallow, or woods are left to rot once the caretaker’s eyes have closed. Some places seem live for centuries, kept alive by the heartbeats of their residents or simply by nature’s good grace. We call these places our homes, and we love them as we might love an old friend. Some places last so long that people come to worship the land as if it were a family god; they may even wage wars to protect their “homes.”

  
But who really keeps the land? Who is it that is the warden of the earth we walk upon? Some would say it is the Light; the force that governs the human soul. Others believe it to be more scientific; a matter of fact rather than human fiction. Whatever anyone says, however, there are always places that seem to have been abandoned by their respective caretakers, be they mortal or immaterial. Sometimes these places hold memories that would rather be forgotten, other times they are simply to desolate to be tamed. These are natural ways in which a place is forgotten, or simply never found. There is no scar upon the earth by such events as wars, and no remorse felt for places that are never seen. Nature continues her slow, arduous course unhindered and unsullied.

  
These are the majority of the forgotten places. The vast majority, but not the entirety. There is one place known to be so thoroughly mangled by history that it managed to tear itself away from the minds and maps of the surrounding population. This place, once a town, was born to be opulent, or at least quaint; one can tell from the architecture that there was once a great deal of wealth in the area. The buildings, few as they may be, were built on strong bones, designed to weather out years of use and hardship. The abbey, small as it may be, was adorned with the most expensive stained glass; its walls etched by the most experienced masons. The guild, a sanctuary for athleticism and martial tactics, once worked hard to train the town’s young people to be strong, competent guardians, outfitted with the finest weapons and equipment, made by local artisans and blacksmiths. It was heaven on earth for its residents; at least for a moment.  
What nightmare could pierce through such a day dream?

 

“Where was that God-forsaken station wagon?” thought Paracelsus bitterly as she tapped her foot and stared at her pocket watch for the eighth time that minute. It was, in fairness, over half an hour later than had been promised. And Paracelsus was in a hurry. How long had it been since that debacle? Twelve hours perhaps? Long enough that she knew to dread every new angle of elevation the sun took in the morning sky. Where was the cart? The station was too close to the city, she berated herself coldly. She wondered briefly if perhaps she should run, but decided against it, as it would make her vulnerable to suspicion. There was, currently, no reason for any of the few people around her to suspect anything save perhaps for her patchy cloak, goggles, and padlocked suitcase. Nothing to suspect at all. She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet; picked at the sleeve of her cloak. What was that stain from? Better not to know, she decided.

  
As the sun rose, Paracelsus became increasingly more aware of the movement around her. The people shuffled quietly around, as if locked in some dreaming state. Perhaps it was still too early in the morning for them to wake into themselves. Still, their seemingly demure states of being made her feel as if she stuck out in the crowd. A single ball of nervous energy in a town full of fatigue. Carts began to pass by along the dirt road, and with each new vehicle Paracelsus felt her heart jump with anticipation; was it her cart, or the one that would take her back to the university, to jail? Would they even send a cart to get her? She shook her head quickly. Best not to dwell on it.  
The sun now stood high in the sky, indicating that it must be close to nine in the morning. She had been there since six. It had taken her about three hours to get to the station from her lab, which meant that she’d been away from home for since three. The lack of sleep did nothing to numb her nerves. If anything it made them more sensitive. So sensitive, in fact, that she almost missed the cart that stopped in front of her because she was too busy trying to decide if the man across the street was glaring at her.  
“Hemlock Estate” was written in aged ink across the side of the cart. The two scrawny horses dug at the ground with their chipped hooves, their bony flanks heaving even at a standstill. She swallowed hard at the sight of the driver. She had seen cadavers in better health. She thought for a moment of turning away and taking her chances on her own. Other people managed to escape the police, right? That was when she actually caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a blue coat out of the corner of her eye, and she jumped into the dilapidated cart without a second thought.

  
She was not the only person who happened to be traveling that day. In the carriage (the inside of which was nearly as torn up as the outside) there sat one other person. Lithic and silent was the woman she shared the small space with. She wore decidedly plain robes; a habit; and had with her a religious tome and a mace. A woman of the Light. She shuddered at the thought. It would be best, she decided, that the two of them converse as little as possible. It seemed the nun shared her asocial views.

Nearly two hours later the cart came to a grinding halt. The driver opened the door for the two women, his wretched mouth twisted into what Paracelsus could only assume was a grin. The nun got out first, whispering a quiet ‘thank you’ to the driver. Paracelsus bounced out close behind her, eager to see what this Hemlock Estate had to offer. She soon found that even her low expectations could be failed. She saw what could only be described as a corpse of a town sprawled before her: There was a ruined tavern, two emaciated martial buildings, the ruins of a church, and what she supposed was once a hospital. The nun seemed either not to notice or not to care, as she had already started the hike up to the abbey.

“Is this really the Estate?” Asked Paracelsus. “The one that the adverts were for?”

“Aye, doctor, this is she. The heir’ll be by on the morrow to give you and the other folks the jobs you’ll be doin’. Can’t say it’ll be easy, but it’ll be work for pay. More than a lot of folks get these times.” Said the driver. “Come, I’ll show you the barracks so’s you can meet your new friends.”

Paracelsus hated something about the way he said ‘friends.’ Maybe it was the smirk it went with, or possibly the sardonic edge behind it. She let him lead her to an old manor house, which she assumed served as the barracks. It was beautiful the way a graveyard can be beautiful; it had clearly weathered many storms, and was torn up in ways that suggested it had been empty for many decades. The stonework around it was expensive, however, so at one time it must have been loved. On the porch stood a man smoking a cigarette, leaning against the flaking wall of the house. He straightened up as he saw the two people approaching.

“Mornin’, Master Dismas. See you’re threatening to burn down the house again,” said the driver. “This is one of the new folks that’ll be joining you and Sir Knight. This lass is one of them fancy city doctors. Picked her up right outside of town. The nun’s run off to the abbey.”

Dismas looked Paracelsus up and down. She recognized the look in his eyes from her labs; the same look that her professor got when he was trying to determine whether a growth was a cancer or not. She wondered about her diagnosis. He snuffed out his cigarette and held out a gloved hand to her.

“Dismas.” He said, gripping her hand firmly rather than really shaking it.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Paracelsus.” She said timidly. She never like men much.

“‘Paracelsus’? Hell of weak alias, that.” Scoffed Dismas.

“It would be a weak alias. That’s why it’s not.” She said flatly.  
“Hm,” Grunted Dismas, his interest now elsewhere. He pushed past her and walked off to smoke another cigarette, somewhere quieter.  
\---  
Junia’s heart broke when she saw the state of the abbey. How could anyone allow such a sacred building to decay like this? At least the stained glass window was still mostly intact. That was something, at least. She pushed open the heavy oak doors, their weight grinding against the stone floor due to ill-fitted hinges. She was pleasantly surprised to see that the inside of the building was clean; candles were it, the carpet freshly aired out.

“I wasn’t expecting company today,” said a male voice to her left.

She turned and saw a man in armor standing on a small step ladder, attempting to repair a fallen grate over a small window. He was fully clad in metal save for his head. She could see the helmet lying on a nearby pew. The man had short, almost scruffy, auburn hair, but a neatly maintained beard. There was only the slightest hint of grey along the sides of his head, so she estimated that he was likely somewhere around his early thirties; about her age. He smiled when he saw her, his green eyes lighting up upon seeing the circle-and-cross sigil on her book. He wore a similar symbol across his plackart. He stepped down from the ladder with a heavy thud, standing closer to eye level with her.

“I wasn’t expecting to meet a fellow believer here,” she said, matching his smile.

“Truth be told, neither did I. The Light always has a way of surprising us, doesn’t it?” He said gently. Something about the way he spoke made Junia feel a little sad. “My name is Reynauld. I arrived here with a fellow named Dismas round about a week ago. What’s your name, Sister?” Said Reynauld.

“My name is Junia. I arrived today, less than half an hour ago. Thank you, Sir Reynauld, for fixing up this abbey. It’s good to see that people still care, even so far from any of the convents.” Said Junia, looked reverently around the small nave.

Reynauld beamed with pride. “Sister Junia, if you would be so kind, do you mind leading us in a short prayer? It’s been so long since last I was joined in worship.”

“Of course,” said Junia. She and Reynauld sat beside one another on one of the dusty pews, and Junia guided them in a simple prayer for protection.  
\---  
The four of them shared a silent dinner that night, gathered around an old dining room that was clearly meant for much larger groups of people. Paracelsus and Junia sat opposite to each other, while Dismas and Reynauld shared the end of the long table. Junia was the first to leave the table after she finished off what she could manage of her meager (and quite unappealing) dinner. Paracelsus soon followed, leaving Dismas and Reynauld behind. Dismas propped his head up with one arm, casting a sideways glance up at Reynauld.

“How fucked do you think we are?”

“I feel rather hopeful about the whole thing. Sister Junia seems quite strong, and a doctor will serve us well.” Reynauld smiled softly at his friend. “It’ll certainly be better than just having the two of us.”

Dismas scoffed and turned away. “You religious types. Full of hope ‘n stupid.”

“Better than full of cuss and scotch.” Reynauld stood, his armor clanking slightly. “I’m going up to bed. See you later.”

 

The morning brought with it rain. Truly, it could not have been worse conditions for setting of on a week-long journey, though at least they’d likely be exploring indoors. The heir, a lord Karrow Hemlock, sent the estate’s deranged caretaker to the small group early with their orders. Dismas read the note several times. He knew a bad job when he saw it, and the lack of specificity of their task was enough to put him on edge.

“What do you make of this, Reynauld?” Dismas handed him the piece of paper.

“Skirmish. Yet inside of the ruins. Perhaps there’s been some instances of wildlife infiltrating the building? Shouldn’t be too rough.” Reynauld handed it back.

“I wouldn’t be so sure ‘bout that, Sir.” Piped up Paracelsus. “Something seems off about this land’s biology. I noticed interesting growths on a few of the trees, and I could have sworn I saw a very large and unfamiliar beast roaming the coast last night…”

“Well, either way we’ll need to stock up,” Junia interrupted. “I’ve brought some food and torches. Does anyone have any supplies? Medicine perhaps?” She looked at Paracelsus.

“I have antidotes and some bandages. A snuff of herbs as well, for the senses.” Paracelsus pulled down her beak-like mask over her face. “Best not to take chances with atmosphere and bad air.” Dismas coughed to hide a laugh.

“Sister Junia, I have with me some holy water, if you feel that will be of use.” Added Reynauld. “I have a skeleton key, as well as some trinkets.” He handed her a scroll of paper and a ring, which she took graciously.

“Enough of that. We’re running out of morning. Let’s get a move on.” Dismas pushed past the three others and headed towards the path.

Soon enough they were on their way, and before they knew it the shattered marble steps of the ancient manor house sprawled before them. Reynauld, clad full in armor, marched on in front, with Dismas close by his side. Paracelsus and Junia brought up the rear.  
The atmosphere of the building was off, as Dismas would put it. The air was colder than that of the surrounding land, and more humid. His gloved fingers ran over the hilt of his dirk, ready to draw it on a second’s notice. Part of him was tempted to step in front of Reynauld, so that if something were to jump at them he’d be able to shoot it at point blank range.

“Light a torch, nun. Can’t see for shit in this dump.”

“Scared of the dark? Wouldn’t have expected that from a rogue.” Scoffed Paracelsus.

“Hush up, bitch beak,” Dismas shot a glare over his shoulder. “See anything, Rey?”

“No.” Reynauld paused, and held up his hand to stop the rest of them. “Wait. Dismas. Go scout ahead around that corner. I think I heard something.”

Dismas borrowed the torch from Junia, and moved slowly across the demolished hallway. He stepped cautiously, toe to heel, in case any wood or bone might be underfoot. Bone? He almost hadn’t registered that there were discarded pieces of human remains scattered around the hallway.  
Sure enough, he soon heard the sound that must have startled Reynauld. There was a low scraping sound, as if something were being dragged across the stone floor. Dismas pressed himself flat against the wall, using a mirror to see around the corner. He had to stifle a profanity when he saw the cause of the sound. He moved back to join the group as swiftly as possible.

“Dismas? You look pale.” Said Junia.

“There’s something not right. It’s a dead person.”  
“Around the corner? Not surprising.” Said Paracelsus disinterestedly.

“Aye, but not an ordinary corpse. It’s alive. Or rather, alive enough to carry an axe.”

Reynauld’s green eyes gleamed through his visor, widened by adrenaline. He gripped his sword tightly. “We best take it out then.”

“You aren’t just a little bit worried about this? Ought we not try to catch it? Bring it back for research?” Piped up Paracelsus.

“No. Something like that is unholy. It must be destroyed.” Said Junia.

“What?! No! You can’t just destroy something that valuable to science-” Paracelsus was cut off as Junia grabbed her arm, dragging her after Reynauld and Dismas as they ventured onward. “Unhand me! Hey!”

“Shut her up!” Dismas turned an hissed too late as he felt a solid “thud” on his shoulder. “What-”

“Dismas!” Called Reynauld as he shoved his sword through the skull of the corpse that had attacked him.

Dismas looked down at his shoulder as Junia and Paracelsus both screamed and readied their weapons. An axe was buried in his shoulder, the skeletal hand still attached to the handle. He gripped the weapon and tore it from his flesh, ignoring Paracelsus's call for him to wait.

“You idiot! Let me staunch the bleeding before you go and tear something! Are you even listening?” She yelled.

He wasn’t. He lurched past Reynauld, shivving one of the skeleton’s through the neck, cleanly removing its head. He felt a warm sensation as Junia pressed her hand gently against his back, somehow reinvigorating him. Soon enough, the last of the three skeletons was done away with.  
Dismas panted for breath, kicking one of the skeletal bodies to assure himself that it would stay dead. He jumped when he felt a strong hand on his undamaged shoulder, whipping around with his dirk in hand.

“Easy, soldier.” Reynauld held up his hands. He’d taken off his helmet, which had left his auburn hair in boyish cowlicks. Despite the fight, he hardly looked like he’d broken a sweat. In fact, his vermillion eyes gleamed with energy. “How are you feeling?”

“Feh,” Dismas sheathed his dirk and rolled his shoulders. “I’ve had worse.”

“Can I interest you in some leeches, to draw out any infection? Perhaps you’d like to try one of my experimental dressings?” Paracelsus shoved Reynauld out of her way.

“Keep your filthy little talons off me,” he pushed away her jar of twitching leeches. “I’d appreciate a bandage, though.”

Reynauld dug in his supply bag for a moment before pulling out a clean cotton wrap. He swatted away Paracelsus, who descended on Dismas like a green-cloaked vulture.

“Take off your coat and shirt,” said Reynauld firmly. Dismas shrugged off his fur-lined jacket with relative easy, but found himself caught in his blood-soaked shirt.

Dismas was still fighting with the garment when he noticed Reynauld remove his gauntlets. Before he could argue, Reynauld guided the shirt over his head and off of his torn shoulder and set to cleaning the wound with holy water. Dismas hissed at the pain but did not flinch.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to know how to stitch a wound,” scoffed Dismas as Reynauld deftly sewed the torn flesh back together. His fingers were nimble despite their size and pronounced callouses.

“Let’s just say it’s not my first fight.” Reynauld smiled slightly to himself as he wrapped Dismas’s arm. “Alright, I’d say you’re fit to fight.” He heaved his armored self off the ground, offering his hand to Dismas.

“Looks like I owe you one, knight.” Dismas smirked. He stood up without accepting Reynauld’s help.

Paracelsus had wandered off ahead of the rest of them, poking and prodding the remains of the skeletons with a femur she’d found laying about. Junia hovered not far behind, keeping one eye on the men while also reminding the doctor not to wander too far lest she run into a trap.

“Oi! Bird Face, Nun, get back in the line up!” Dismas cracked his neck and stretched, sauntering ahead of Reynauld with revitalized energy. “Beaks, you’re gonna get fucked up real bad if you don’t quit poking at those dead fuckers.”

Junia rubbed her temples, watching Paracelsus and Dismas argue from afar. Reynauld simply laughed.

“At least getting pummeled by a dead man didn’t dampen their spirits, Sister.” He said calmly. “How are you holding up?”

“Please, call me Junia,” she said. “I’m alright. I was lucky enough not to take any blows, which is something to be thankful for.”

They got lucky this time, Dismas thought as they continued their trek in the darkness. He’d been sloppy; gotten hurt. He kicked himself for his carelessness. He was just lucky it had been him and not one of the others. His gut twisted as he considered what the consequences could have been. Paracelsus didn’t look like she could take a hit; the nun seemed strong, but could she handle the fear?  
He was thankful for Reynauld. He’d seen him fight; knew his type. Dismas could recognize a fellow killer. There was an air about the knight that he recognized from himself. Despite the bright eyes and warm smile he knew Reynauld had not only seen death but been its usher.

“We’ve hit a dead end,” called Reynauld, breaking Dismas’s thoughts. “We ought to rest up and head back on the morrow.”

Exhausted either from the fight or from the walk, no one argued against a rest. Junia set up the fire while Paracelsus scribbled notes in a book that looked like it had seen better days.

“Keeping a diary, eh?” Dismas loomed over Paracelsus’s shoulders.

“Keep back, you miserable thief!” She slammed the book shut, undoubtedly smudging the fresh ink. “These are invaluable research notes! Not something for the prying, uneducated eye!”

Dismas bet she had a funny face, though it was shielded by her funnier-still mask.

“Easy there, Doctor. Wouldn’t want your screaming to wake the dead, now would we?” Dismas sneered.

“Hush up, or you’ll both be the ones in need of waking,” warned Junia. “Now come get some food. It’s not much, but at least it’s a hot.”

The four figures huddled round the fire, silent except for the occasional crackle of the flames. Dismas felt at ease amongst them, though he could tell that Junia and Reynauld did not share his safety. Junia toyed with a string of beads, repeating prayers under her breath. Her face was one of resignation rather than determination; her eyes stared dimly into the flickering fire.

  
Reynauld too seemed resigned, however his eyes were steeled and his jaw set. The friendly warmth Dismas had come to associate with him had been replaced by a shadow as he watched Junia recite her prayers.

  
Oddly enough, it seemed the only one besides himself that was unbothered by their surroundings was Paracelsus, who hummed softly to herself as she scrawled drawings and notes into her secret little book. They were an odd bunch, Dismas thought as he let sleep take him.


	2. Introduction Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. Work caught up to me, and I didn't have much time.

They came at night. The Light only knows how the mindless undead managed to find human conspirators so deeply hidden in the bowels of the old estate, yet they did. And the mortals were unlike the weak, brittle bones of the earlier encounter. These humans were accompanied by more skeletons; possibly the results of necromancy.

 Dismas couldn’t remember waking up. He only remembered the horrifying tear of Junia’s flesh as a man (Dismas assumed it was a living man, though it was hard to tell) tore through her clothes and armor with a clawed gauntlet. She cried out as the tendons of her shoulder were ripped, unable to lift her tome and heal herself with holy words.

 The memory of her stoic features fled Dismas’s mind as he felt the agonized image of her face burn into his eyes. She fell to the ground, clutching her book to her chest with her good arm as she cried and prayed to her god.

 Dismas didn’t dare look back now. He breathed in sharply as he lunged forward, burying his dirk deep into the ribcage of one of the cultists. He tasted her blood on his lips as he withdrew his knife. She wouldn’t last much longer.

 To his left he heard Reynauld cry out, not in fear but in resolve. Behind him he was aware of Paracelsus as she tended to Junia while tossing (thankfully accurately) bombs filled with sulfurous powder, which seemed to cause the undead to, well, die. The cultist woman grabbed Dismas by his collar, dragging his face to hers. His forehead hit against the metal of her mask painfully as she held him with the last of her uncanny strength.

 “...Get...out…Before-”

 That was it. The flat gleam of steel plunged through her neck before she could finish. Reynauld pulled back his sword, and she fell away. Reynauld’s armor was drenched in blood and the dirt of the dead; his chest heaved for each breath as he wiped of his blade.

 “What of the women?” He finally said.

 “What about them? They’re over there.” Dismas nodded towards Paracelsus, catching his own breath.

 Reynauld turned and made his was mechanically towards the slumped figure of Junia. Her head lay in Paracelsus’s lap.

 “I don’t want to die...Not here. Not in this place,” her breath hitched as Paracelsus rubbed a foul-smelling powder into her wound. “Not here. Please, Light, not here.”

 “Hey, hey. Hush now, you aren’t going to die,” Paracelsus sounded nearly cheerful. “I devised this formula back at the university. It staunches bleeding beautifully, so quit that dreary death talk.”

 Reynauld walked past the two women without stopping to look. Dismas skirted past Paracelsus, deliberately knocking her upside the head.

 “Hey!”

 “Sorry, Beaks.” He waved over his shoulder. “Hey, Reynauld.”

 “Hm,” Reynauld muttered something, but it was caught by his visor.

 “Mate, you’re gonna have to speak up,” Dismas matched pace with his armored friend. “Where’re you headed? Rest of the party’s back there getting patched up.”

 “There must be more of them. I need to find the rest.” Reynauld neither slowed his pace nor turned towards Dismas. “They will pay for their sins.”

 “Aye, sure they will. Once we get the ladies patched up. C’mon, it ain’t good for neither of us to be so far from them, what with Junia so rough.” He reached out and caught Reynauld by the arm.

 “Don’t you dare touch me!” Shouted Reynauld, pulling his arm away violently. “I’ll not have you smudge my armor with your filthy hands!”

 “And fuck off to you as well, then!” Dismas spat.

 Dismas turned on his heel and left Reynauld to his devices. Granted, he knew that even with his temper it would be unwise to split up the group. Still, it shook him to see Reynauld like this. Anger he could understand, but his gut told him that wasn’t all this was. He headed back to where Paracelsus was tending Junia.

 “Where did the big guy go?” Paracelsus turned her head, her face completely invisible through the mask.

 “He’ll be back. How’s the patient?” Dismas sat next to the two of them.

 “Well, I’d say that the tincture is working marvelously. What do you think? Are you feeling anything?” She turned to Junia, who looked rather pale.

 “It feels...a touch fizzy? Is that normal?” Junia touched her bandaged wound fearfully.

 “Oh, I have no idea,” Paracelsus whipped out her book and drew her pen. “Fizzy how? Describe.”

 As Junia recited every piece of sensation in her arm, Dismas allowed his mind to wander back to Reynauld. What was troubling his friend so? Granted, he’d only known the man a few weeks, but they’d seen horrors before. Nothing phased him.

 “We need to press on,” Reynauld’s voice surprised him. “We’re short resources, and those abominations will be after us.”

“Are we turning back?” Asked Junia.

“Might be for the best,” added Dismas. “Sister here is down an arm, and I don’t fancy getting attacked by more of those cultists.”

“I have no interest in meeting my end down here,” piped up Paracelsus.

Reynauld crossed his arms over his chest, the metal clinking slightly against itself. “We can turn back, if you’re all in agreement. I can’t say that I’m pleased with the idea of defeat, though.”


End file.
